A Tale of Resentment
by Dolly-Doll-Face
Summary: The feud between the Loyalists and the Patriots are causing a rift between the people and also creating a rift in the young colony. WARNING: Angsty America is angsty and a different ending to the Revolution. (Still successful)
1. The Vicious Cycle

I don't own Hetalia or it's characters.

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******A Tale of Resentment**

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**.:WW1:.  
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In April 6, 1917 the USA had officially entered the Great War.

With the papers signed and the nation crying for justice, President Wilson and Prime minster David Lloyd George shook hands and left the office, in turn leaving the two men alone, or more specifically, two nations alone.

To say that the American was mad was an understatement; even hell bent and furious still seemed to miss the mark of the absolute outrage he felt. America glared at the older nation who refused to meet his eyes, instead opting to stare intently at a corner of the rug.

The tension was suffocating.

"You are an ass, you know that?"

"Oh, _I'm_ the ass? Who was the one who ignored my call for help?"

"I sent you supplies, it's not like I ignored you completely."

"But it wasn't enough, was it?"

"It's not my war England." America growled out through bared teeth

"Right, because the whole world revolves around you doesn't it America?"

In one swift movement, America stood and slammed his bare fist against the Prime minister's desk, "Damn you England! Damn you to Hell! You are dragging my men to their deaths just because you stupid European's can't sit still for five goddamn seconds before you go at each other's throats!" England visibly flinched at the sheer wrath the oozed from the American's mouth like an acid eruption. His eyes glowed a furious electric blue as they too damned him to the lowest level of hell.

"It's not like I asked Germany to sink your ship and Goddamn it America, I need your help!"

"Oh, you need _my_ help? Where were you when _I_ needed _yours?_ Oh that's right, you were sending my own brother to burn down my capital and sending supplies to the Confederates. Yeah you were a _whole_ lot of help."

"What is your point?"

"My "point" England, is why on God's green earth should I give a damn about your war when all you do is sit back and watch mine?"

England didn't get to answer that question, because America had already stormed out of the room.

Leaving a broken desk, mangled doorknob, a shattered door hinge and a signed war form, in his wake.

**.:WW2:.**

The depression had taken it's toil on America and he was elated this war pulled his people out of the crisis, but he couldn't help but feel resentful that he was, once again, dragged out of splendid isolation and thrown into another European war that had nothing to do with him, well almost nothing to do with him. On December 7, 1941 His people had cried for justice, they had cried for revenge, and then there was no turning back.

Now it was the next day, December 8, 1941, and England got a serious case of déjà vu, as a set of different leaders shook hands and left the two countries alone once again.

Almost everything was the same, only now America was bandaged due to a major wound Japan had inflicted. England watched America silently. The nation was no longer fuming; instead he just looked annoyed and tired.

"What, no snarky comments and broken furniture Mr. Hero?"

Was the comment the elder nation chose to hopefully shatter the silent tension between them. But America didn't explode like England expected, instead he closed his cerulean eyes and heaved an weary sigh, "I'm doing this for my people, England." the young nation stood up and calmly, "I have nothing else to say." With that he turned and left the room, once again leaving England to dwell with the burdens of yet another war and another signed war form.

America closed the door gently behind him and He flinched as his lower back throbbed painfully; Japan was going to get it for sentencing more of his men to their graves, and for the physical pain he suffered after Pearl Harbor.

America squared his shoulders and grabbed his bomber jacket from the coat rack. He slid the jacket over his arms and wrapped it around him, the warm wool collar tickling the sides of his neck, while the familiar and comforting scent of the leather captured his senses. Taking a deep breath, the nation strode forward. Tall, strong, formidable.

Oh yes, there was going to be hell to pay.

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**A/N: Short and angsty. What is it with me and angsty Hetalia one-shots? Anyway, I wrote this a while ago after my sister and I had a rather in depth conversation on America's involvement in the world wars. **

**Sigh~ Okay, okay, I'll go back to writing A Really Long Story now. **

**Reviews are like Pixie Sticks!**

**They're my personal crack. O-O**


	2. The After Effects

A special thanks to:

FluffyAngst333

MindMaster

9foxgrl

Zalsburry

Amelia F. Kirkland Jones

Thanks for reviewing!

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I don't own Hetalia or it's characters.

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******A Tale of Resentment**

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**.:The Bombing After Effects:.  
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Japan lay in the rubble that was once a proud city of his land.

He didn't move. He didn't dare. Not with the the severe damage he felt; his fresh wounds seeped if not poured blood, staining the rubble below the old nation crimson. '_How ironic.'_ thought he, _'Red against white. The very color that waves on my flag; now paints me with it's fallen pride.' _

There was movement. Not much, but it was coming closer, Japan wondered idly if he could even defend himself in his state. There was the sound of great blocks of destroyed cement being shifted and shoved, the noise becoming louder as little balls of the hardened mixture rolled away from their previous posts.

The rummaging stopped and a head of gold entered the old Japan's view. The nation tensed, waiting for an attack. After all that is what you did in war, no? Yet guns never pointed, fists never flew, but a large gloved hand rested gently against shoulder. Japan waited for something, a harsh comment, a cocky spittle, a mocking laugh, anything!

_"Anata wa idō dekimasu ka?"_

The Japanese was rough, like the speaker knew the language by heart, but hadn't uttered a word in years. But not only was it _Japanese_, what those words meant!

_"Can you move?" _

Each syllable spoken with genuine concern rather than gloating sarcasm. There was no, _"You had it coming."_ or _"You should have surrendered."_ It baffled Japan beyond reason and beyond response.

When America received silence, his eyes softened and with strong arms, gently gathered the nation in his arms. Japan struggled faintly, but America hushed the nation tenderly as though he were a frightened child.

_"Sore wa daijōbudesu."_ He cooed,_ "Watashi wa anata o kizutsukeru koto wa arimasen. Watashi wa anata o tasuketai to omou."_

The old nation relaxed in the gentle hold.

_"It's alright." _He had said, _"I will not hurt you. I want to help you."_

So Japan ceased his struggles, allowing himself to go limp in arms that he knew were more than sufficient in carrying him.

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**.:Reconstruction:.**

It wasn't long until reconstruction began.

American soldiers -men who pointed guns at the not long before- were helping families recover what possessions survived the bombing, holding hands of children, and plastering the bricks of old and new buildings.

Japan watched as his people took the offered hands of the American people and finding the help they needed. He turned back to his own home, now rebuilt to it's former glory by the very hands that destroyed it. Those same hands scratched Pochi's ears as America played with the pup.

"Why are you helping us? You could have left us, you know."

A sigh escaped the blond's lips, "There's a reason I never wanted to get involved in European affairs. It's the same reason I fought for my independence all those years ago." Japan turned to his guest, the young nation's eyes held his own, the depth and color of a summer sky, "I never wanted to become like them. My people left Europe because they didn't either.

And just, letting you suffer, to leave you as just another victory in my wake. That would be stooping to their level...or at least, the level they're playing on." Pochi yipped and lept into the American's lap, wagging his tail happily. Japan smiled when the nation proceeded to dote on the fluffy canine. "I plan on taking charge from now on. Maybe then things like this won't happen anymore."

Japan's eyes softened, but he said nothing. America was still so young and his outlook was so dreadfully optimistic, but the jaded nation couldn't bring himself to shatter the boy's dreams. Especially since it was America helping him back on his feet. Instead he walked toward his guest, Pochi wagging his tail at the sight of his approaching master and licking his hand as it descended to scratch the dog's erect ears.

"Maybe."

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**A/N: Heya! Guess who's back? **

**I've noticed a lot of stories based on America's guilt over the bombing, but never one that mentions the fact that America did in fact help Japan almost immediately after the bombing. Well at least one that wasn't a America X Japan shipping anyway... **

**I would also like to point out that I did not mean to bad mouth any Europeans. I love you guys ; 3 ; **

**And just so er'body knows, this is NOT Japame, Ameripan, whatever it's called! **

**I am continuing this story, but I will be jumping around time periods and what not. And if there will be any shippings at all, it will be USUK...probably some UKUS if I'm feeling up to it. Maybe some one-sided stuff, I dunno.**

**Expect to see some Cold War stuff, but do NOT expect RusAme! I feel the same way about RusAme as I do about FrUK. I hate it with a fiery passion that rivals the white hot intensity of a thousand suns. Yet not as much as I hate RusUK (is that even what it's called?) mostly because I see it and am like, "WHERE THE HECK DID YOU EVEN GET THAT?!" **

**Here's a fun fact (you guys probably aren't even reading this...OH WELL) **

**I don't mind different America pairings so much ****(except AmeCan. I'm sorry, but just, no.)**, but England pairings really infuriate me for some reason...(unless it's USUK/UKUS of course) I don't know why they just always have. Which is probably why I've taken to UKUS so much because America is the one usually sought after. I don't know if it's extreme national pride or some horrible desire to see England single unless it's with America (I'm really hoping it's not the last one, because I'm pretty sure I have nothing against England. That's counting the county and character by the way.)

**Man, I really hate FrUK, yet I don't hate France. Granted, I don't want to be alone in the same room as him, but I don't think he's a bad guy...just grabby. ANYWAY! If you're still here.**

**Reviews are love!  
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	3. O Captain, my captain!

A special thanks to:

Amelia F. Kirkland Jones

Kosaji

RosAangel Naito

Guest

Thanks for reviewing!

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I don't own Hetalia or it's characters.

Happy Belated Birthday Lincoln!

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******A Tale of Resentment**

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**.:O CAPTAIN, my Captain!:.  
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America writhed against the sheets, a desperate hand clawing at the linen, threatening to tear it to shreds. His breathing ragged and white teeth bared as sweat continued to roll down his pasty face. A sharp gasp escaped the nation's lips and the doors flew open. The man all but ran to the county's bedside, "It's worse than I feared." the President clenched and un-clenched his hands, "Doctor Stone...ROBERT!" A clammy hand reached out, making the President look the young man in the eyes.

"T-the doctor...he...he can't...do anything f-for me...Abe."

Lincoln knelled next the bed, "I can't sit around and do nothing, you're ill my boy!" America shook his head, breath still labored, "No. I'm...I'm splitting in half." The man's eyes flew to the other hand, covered in blood as it vainly tried to stop the bleeding of the ever deepening laceration through the embodiment's torso. The doors flew open once again, "Mr. President, the south has seceded, we are at war!" America continued to huff and moan, looking paler and sicker by the second.

Abraham held the boy's hand, "A civil war...what can I do my nation?" America squeezed the President's hand weekly, looking him in the eyes, "Stop them. I-it's the only way...please, please Abe...d-don't let me fall apart!"

"Abraham? I heard-" A gasp cut off the lady as she took in the state of the bedridden America, "I'll go get the doctor. Doctor Stone!"

"M-Marry-!"

"Let her go America. Robert will be able to bandage those wounds and if nothing else, it'll help her sleep at night."

America nodded, "Y-yeah, something to stifle the bleeding would be nice. I-I'm ruining...the White house's...best linens." The President chuckled wearily, "You're bleeding buckets, yet you're concerned about ruining the sheets?" The boy gave a laugh breathily in return, "Wh-what can I say? The...ways o-of a gentleman...h-have been...drilled into me since...i-infancy."

Abraham patted the nation's hands, "Try to get some rest. I'll do everything I can end this war as one nation, I give you my word and if needed, my own life."

"T-thank you...Abraham."

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_O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;_  
_The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;_  
_The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,_  
_While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:_  
_But O heart! heart! heart!_  
_O the bleeding drops of red,_  
_Where on the deck my Captain lies,_  
_Fallen cold and dead._

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The needle pierced the skin, guided by a quivering bloody hand. The yellow flame flickered when a sharp gasp escaped the young nation's lips, a red gleam danced off a blood stained needle as America did what he could to stop himself from splitting in half. The stitches that circled his torso were armature at best, but they held the ripped flesh to their best ability, all stained the same crimson that ran down the tanned flesh.

"You push yourself much too hard."

America sighed, "I'm splitting in half, not paralyzed or sickly."

"Honestly America, do you hear yourself? Spitting in half seems worse than the other two combined!"

"It doesn't matter! I refuse to lay on a bed while blood stains my land! I can't sit and do nothing, you of all people should know that Abe." The President sighed, "I guess that means you won't come back to Washington?" He asked rhetorically, cringing as he watched America continue his sewing.

"Alright I can't watch this anymore. Give me that." Abraham snatched the bloody needle and with precise movement finished the batch of stitches each one evenly spaced and the same size. America gave a breathy laugh, "You stitch up people often?" Lincoln gave a humorless laugh in return, "No, but Mary likes her stitches just so and she's one you would not want to disappoint." The President tied off the bloody string and rested a now bloody hand on the boy's shoulder, "If you won't come back. I understand, but be careful all right?"

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_O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;  
Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills;  
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding;  
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;  
Here Captain! dear father!  
This arm beneath your head;  
It is some dream that on the deck,  
You've fallen cold and dead._

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Abraham laid against the sheets, head being wrapped in the linen, with nothing else to be done. His breathing faint and shallow, escaping pale lips. A sharp gasp escaped the men gathered around the bed as the doors flew open. America all but ran to the man's bedside.

"Sir you can't-"

"Let him be Mr. Abbott."

The boy fell to his knees beside President. picking up a limp hand and squeezing it tightly, "doctor...doctor Stone!" The young man looked the doctor in the eyes. He sighed and shook his head.

The boy looked to the surrounding doctors and surgeons, "There has to be something! Anything!" The men at the dying man's bed bowed their heads in shame. The doctor cleared his throat, but eyes remained fixed on the president. "I'm sorry America, but his condition...it's terminal." America breath hitched and his eyes flew back to his President, his leader...his friend. "Come on Abe, you can pull out of this! I-It's only a flesh wound right?" The paralyzed president gave no response.

"You're going to get better. You're going to to hug and kiss Mary a-and do all that reconstruction you wanted to do for the South...y-you're not going to die! You can't die on me Abe!" America said desperately, tears racing down his cheeks.

"Wake up...please wake up!"

But Abraham's eyes never opened and America finally gave in, sobs wracked his body and the room of witnesses bowed their heads and stayed silent, the scene being taken in with sorrowful eyes. When America's tears stopped, his eyes hardened until they turned to sapphire stones. He though of the two boys had not only lost a friend and leader, they had lost a father. They didn't deserve that and Mary...

"Take that woman out of here and do not let her in here again!"

The nation didn't know what was happening at the moment, but he looked up to see the lady being escorted from the room, leaving her to weep in the parlor.

Silence fell once again.

"Who did it?"

The whispered demand shattered the silence like bullet through glass.

"WHO DID IT?"

"Booth...James Wilkes Booth."

America took a deep breath, gently kissed the dead man's hand and stood. The men in the room watched as he left the room.

Mary looked up from her chair in the parlor, eyes red and wild. The nation keeled before her, his eyes never leaving her own, "I will find him and I will make him pay."

**.:.:.**

America ran, his heavy strides like thunder on the cobblestone streets until he reached the theater. He kicked open the doors, the solder's inside jumped, "Where the hell is he?"

"H-He?"

"Booth! Where the hell is the bastard?"

"H-he left sir, not long after the assassination!"

America's nostrils flared, his eyes alight with a furious fire. He charged behind the stage, breaking anything he felt was in his way.

"S-sir we already have men after him!"

America ignored the solider, jumping on an unoccupied horse and sending the animal charging ahead, leaving the wild shouts behind him. England would be proud; He was finally engaging in the hunt.

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_My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;  
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;  
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;  
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20  
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!  
But I, with mournful tread,  
Walk the deck my Captain lies,  
Fallen cold and dead._

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The Garrett farm was where the chase ended. The soldiers caught up with the fugitives, America not far behind, if not secretly leading them.

The Soldiers surround the tobacco barn where Booth and his accomplice were hiding. The nation watched the scene unfold from his hidden perch among the morning mist, "Come out of we'll burn the barn!" General Conger shouted. "Wait!" A voice called out and a man stepped out of the barn, hands held in the air. "We surrender!" The soldiers didn't hesitate in arresting him, "Sir David Harold, you are under arrest for aiding and bedding an assassin." Inside the barn America's ears picked up a scoff, "Do what you want, but I prefer to come out and fight!" The blond raised a brow, "At least the coward has a bit backbone." he muttered to himself.

The general sighed, "Burn it."

The soldiers then set to work and lit the barn on fire. America spat, "Damn it! I've hunted him for too long to have that bastard burned!" America dismounted the mare and charged into the building, in time to see Booth moving about inside the blazing barn, and Sergeant Boston Corbett raising a pistol and firing. Three deadly shots to the neck, paralyzing him in his dying moments, just as Lincoln had been.

America watched as Booth was dragged from the barn to the porch of Garrett's farmhouse. While resting against the wood, he looked up at the approaching nation and whispered, "Tell my mother I died for my country." America snarled, "I_ am_ your country."

The man's eyes widened and he swallowed thickly, before turning the "I-I see. C-could you...raise my hands? I-I want to see them." America watched the man with emotionless eyes, as his hands were raised firmly, but not harshly. Booth stared at his hands, looking stricken and tired, "Useless, useless." He whispered and his eyes glazed.

The blond sighed, stepping forward and respectfully slid the murder's eyes closed. "Foolish fools are made behind misunderstanding's blindfold and hate's guiding hand." America muttered to himself as he noticed a corner of something sticking out of the dead man's pocket. Slipping it out he examined it. "Must be a dairy." a page was dog eared and he opening the little leather book to the marked page.

_ "Our country owed all her troubles to him, and God simply made me the instrument of his punishment."_

America slamming the little book shut. Forcing the book back into it's owner's pockets harshly. "Tell that to God when he damns you for murder."

The country eyed the dead man a moment longer before standing up and adjusting his coat. The soldiers watched with confused eyes, "W-where are you going sir?" America didn't answer them, only mounted his horse, and rode off.

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**A/N: WHOO! This is the longest chapter yet! Weird fic for Valentines day, huh? Abraham Lincoln's Birthday was February 12, originally I had written this to be posted then, but, well, life holds you up sometimes. **

**The Poem, 'O Captain, my captain!' was written by Walt Whitman and was in fact written about Abraham Lincoln. The two were actually good friends and of course like many were devastated by Lincoln's death.**

**I have a really hard time thinking about America during the civil war. My heart aches and all I want to do is scream at everyone to stop fighting already and see what they're putting their country through! *le sigh* Also I picture America being very close to Abraham, because he was a kind man and he seems like the type of guy that would be by America's bedside while he's tearing apart...literally *shudders*  
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**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed.**

**Reviews are the best kind of love a writer can receive!**

**Guest:**Yeah, it's perspective and if you want my honest opinion. America is a country that has allowed itself to be everyone's whipping boy. Don't get me wrong, I love my country! But I don't like the people running it.**  
**Also, before we dropped the bomb, we actually sent letters (dropped them all over the city form a plane if I'm not mistaken) warning the people, (in Japanese) about the bombing and to get out of there. Also I agree with you, at the time it was the best we could do. Japan is a country founded on honor and they just wouldn't surrender even though they were losing! So I agree, I think we did what was best at the time.


	4. Ode to the Modern Nation

A special thanks to:

Amelia F. Kirkland Jones

Kosaji

RosAangel Naito

Guest

Thanks for reviewing!

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I don't own Hetalia or it's characters.

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******A Tale of Resentment**

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**.:Ode to the Modern Nation:.**

America rested his head in his hands. He could feel it my bones, they were killing him. The beliefs that he founded on, the things his people had died for, the war cry when he had first raised his flag, all the things that made him great. All of them were being massacred by his government, and his own people...they just let it happen! They turned a blind eye while their nation crumbled at their feet.

Didn't they know?

No.

They never did see the torment they caused for the embodiment.

No common Joe assisted him when he was only a colony; torn on whether or not to turn away England's hand. Not there to hear his pained cries when he was splitting apart in the civil war. Never there to patch up his wounds from enemy attacks or hold him when gunfire ricocheted around in his head in the many wars that followed.

No.

Civilians never witnessed these times, at least knowing it was their nation. It was always great leaders who stood beside him, but now they only neglect him.

They cast aside his weary eyes and heavy shoulders.

They ignore his violent coughs as his people are bombarded with the disease that_ they_ contaminate the air with.

Shun his pleas as they restrict his people, trying to take away their protection and arming their enemies.

Side step his utter outrage of their tampering with the foundations that men, more honest and wise then they could ever be, set up in order for him to stay the great nation he is...or was.

The United States of America is ill.

He knows it, even if the government officials hide him away. But he has hope, that his people will open their blind eyes, unplug their deaf ears, join hands and cry with one voice and say, "WE THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES!"

Then and only then, will America, the one who has seen it all. The one with scars littered about his body and stories to tell, rise from his bed and kick down the door that hides him, lean from the balcony and sing with his people his national anthem.

Only then will he spread his golden wings and soar high above the rest once more.

For he is the land and we are his people.

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**A/N: short update is short. :/**

**This is a very serious update and I really want you all to consider what I said. **

**I love reviews and I'm so happy with all the one's I've received so far! Thank you guys!**

**I'll send another update your way soon ;)**


	5. To Be or Not to Be?

A special thanks to:

Thanks for reviewing!

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WARNING: Non-Canon Revolution and possessive!England

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I don't own Hetalia or it's characters.

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******A Tale of Resentment**

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**.:To Be or Not To Be?:.**

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America spent days upon days arguing with himself, should he become a country? Or perhaps he should just stay a Colony?...that would be the safest option, but since when did he care about safety?

The teen growled and pulled his hair, he hated feeling so conflicted! So he did the only thing he could think of, he warned his guardian.

"Don't worry about it America, this will blow over soon enough. They always do."

"B-but England! These are real problems!"

"Then we'll simply send more soldiers."

"NO!" America slammed his fist into the table, breaking the wood in half, "They're only making the situation worse!"

"Well, what do you want me to do about it America?"

"I-I...I don't know!" He cried, he heard England give a sigh before he felt familiar arms around him. "There, there, love." the elder cooed, "I'll do what I can, alright? Don't you worry about it, I'll take care of you."

America nodded and rested his head on his "brother's" shoulders. But that had only added a whole new reason to worry. Those arms no longer brought a sense of comfort. He gently wiggled in England's arms, but when he felt them tighten, he realized they no longer felt loving, but smothering.

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As always, England had to leave.

As always, America begging him to not to.

As always, England would kiss his head and go anyway.

America used to blame his guardian for leaving him, but as he grew he learned of the responsibilities England had and forgave his too soon departure. It still hurt though, that feeling of abandonment.

...or at least, it used to.

The young colony watched England's ship disappear on the horizon and let out a deep sigh. The sudden relief that England had_ finally_ left washed over him and with it tied a knot of utter terror in the young man's belly. What was he thinking? He loved England! Why would he have such thoughts?

"It's happened again."

America stopped by the market on his way home and couldn't help but listen in on the crowd of colonists. "And it will keep happening if we don't do something about it!" Intrigued, he moved a little closer,"But what can we do?" another man had asked, secretly asking the young man's own question, "We'll do what we were always meant to do."

"What is that?"

"We'll become our own."

The surrounding people gasped, sometimes that statement resulted in the many vigorous cheers and passionate action that many in the group sounded, but sometimes...

"We cannot do that!"

"How can we simply turn our backs to the country who has given us everything?"

"You are traitors to the crown!"

This caused a rift between the people that resided in the New World and, unknowingly so, caused a rift in the no longer small embodiment.

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"Step down America!"

No, he couldn't and he wouldn't. "No."

England stopped and turned to his charge, "What did you say?" an subtle threat in his voice. "I said no England! They've had enough and so have I!" The rape, the abuse, the tyranny, the pillaging, his people were being taken advantage of and it had to stop!

"Just because a few colonists-"

"They have nothing to do with this! I can make my own decisions and I'm starting now. Give us representation or we're going to war."

"You foolish _child," _America growled at how demeaning England spoke to him, "you have no idea what you're saying."

"I know _exactly_ what I'm saying, I know _exactly_ what I'm doing, and I'm doing it of my own free will! No more of this England, we won't stand for it!"

"I gave you everything America, _everything! _And this is the thanks I get? Do you have any idea what I've been through? We've been at war trying to protect _you_ and all we ask is for a little money to get back on our feet."

"That's not it England and you know that. I've told you, _warned you_ about what's going on and all do is brush me off! As for the taxes, all we ask is for a place in Parliament and yet you refuse. I'm not a child anymore England and you can't just cover my eyes anymore either. I've grown up and it's about time you see that."

"You listen closely boy." England's voice dropped to low growl, "I _own_ you, and if you think I'm just going to let go of something that is rightfully mine, then you are sorely mistaken." Each bite of venom made America twitch, "If confrontation is what you want, then so be it."

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"Britannia!"

America yelled over the heavy rain. He hated that name, but since the war had commenced, that's all England would answer to.

"All I want is my freedom!" The rain continued to pour, plastering the soldier's uniform to their body and hair to his face. Across the field England ground his teeth and roared, "I won't allow it!" He charged and America raised his musket to block the bayonet's blow. The edge hit the wood and soon the musket was flying through the air and landed several feet away.

The barrel of the gun now aimed between two _green_ eyes.

"Step down _England."_

The cruel irony of the situation, took those once warm eyes and began to freeze them, until nothing but two emeralds glowing with cold indifference, remained.

"I've won."

England had surrendered and America lowered his gun.

"I am no longer a part of the British Empire."

_I'm a free nation._

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**A/N: I know what you're all thinking, you're thinking, "Wait WHAT?! Oh no she didn't!" my answer is simple as this, "Oh yes, I did." **

**I really don't think this has enough Possessive!England in it, to label it as so, but I'll just leave it be. I may or may not do a piece that follows this up. Who knows. **

**Also a note, while I never had America never flat out say it; He has fallen for England, he just hasn't really come to terms with it yet. I was really trying to capture the political angle on the American Revolution here, which is why even when I tried, the conflicting emotions never really had a place in this update. But to ease your minds, look at how America is demanding that England see him as an adult, as an equal. America doesn't really understand his own feelings yet, so don't put too much pressure on him, m'kay?**

**Alright children time for a history lesson. The only reason England wanted to keep America is because of money. Seriously guys, if you're ever taking a history test, look for the answer that involves money. You'll be correct 99.9% of the time. America has vast natural resources and England had it all figured out that America would send these resources to them and then they would sell things to the colonists. This went all out of whack when America began trading with other countries, hence England's tighter hold. Also since America was a territory of the British empire, we had to pay taxes, another source of money. Really people, it's all about the money, money, money~ /shot**

**The reason why England (I assume) is so bent out of shape about it (still for some, most have gotten over it, and others just don't care) is because when the British Empire went in to fight, they won. That's what happens when you've got the best military in the world. You win! But then they go into America and then we win! (Granted they did win many battles) Americans! A bunch of farmers with guns who decided they were fed up with the tyranny, won a war against the best military in the world. Talk about a blow to the ego! **

**Reviews are Love!**


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